


Authority

by redseeker



Category: Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Double Penetration, Dubious Consent, Kink Meme, Multi, Sticky Sex, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-19
Updated: 2012-06-19
Packaged: 2017-11-08 03:26:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/438618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redseeker/pseuds/redseeker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the (old) kink meme. Lugnut and Strika help their leader relax.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Authority

Lugnut gripped both of Megatron’s wrists in one huge claw, holding them above Megatron’s head. The Deception leader was kneeling on the ground at Lugnut’s feet, and he looked up at Lugnut with a shocked, indignant expression.  
  
“Lugnut! _What_ are you doing?” He attempted to get up, draw his swords, punish Lugnut for mistreating is beloved leader so flagrantly, but the stasis cuffs around his wrists kept his body motionless in whatever position Lugnut manoeuvred him into.  
  
“I wish only to help you, Master,” Lugnut answered, looming over Megatron. Seeing Megatron’s incomprehension on his face, the large mech continued, “I have noticed, these past few cycles, that the pressures of leadership are making you... unhappy.”  
  
Megatron sneered – facial expressions were just about the only form of movement he was allowed at present, aside from speaking, and he intended to make full use of them. “Lugnut you incompetent glitch, you know nothing. Let me free this instant.”  
  
“I...” Megatron could see the indecision in Lugnut’s manner; it seemed he truly did believe he was behaving in Megatron’s interests, but he was reluctant to disobey a direct order from his adored superior. “I cannot do that, Master.”  
  
Megatron narrowed his optics. “Why not?”  
  
“It is my duty, oh glorious leader, as your subordinate, to... to make you feel good. To give you what you need.”  
  
“What I... What?”  
  
The door behind Megatron slid open at this point, and a large mech entered, their heavy footsteps making Megatron’s whole frame shake. He grit his dentals, frustrated that he couldn’t turn to see who had arrived to further humiliate him, and suddenly feeling terribly... vulnerable? He, Megatron, at not one other mech’s mercy but two. He swore silently to himself that as soon as he could move again Lugnut and this newcomer would both be nothing but scrap.  
  
A large pair of hands suddenly grasped his hips, and he gasped and tried to move away. He couldn’t, of course.  
  
“My consort feels the same way,” Lugnut said. The mech behind him – Strika, apparently – pulled his hips back and up, and Megatron’s optics widened when he felt her hips bump against his aft, and then grind in closer.  
  
“My lord,” she rumbled. “Has Lugnut explained all to you?” Megatron was going to choke out an enraged reply when one of Strika’s immense hands slipped heavily around to the front of his codpiece, roughly fondling the smooth metal, digging into the seam at the top of his thigh. “He always did talk too much.”  
  
“You will b-both... be reprimanded for this,” Megatron growled, but Strika only clucked in matronly disapproval.  
  
“Mechs. You never know what’s good for you.” Two of her thick fingers pressed in between Megatron’s legs, rubbing over the plate that kept his port covered. Megatron ground his dentals and felt his faceplates begin to heat. This was too much. “Lugnut,” said Strika. “Why don’t you give his mouth something better to do?”  
  
Lugnut looked down at him, tilting his head up with one claw. “Master... Please, relax. This is for... your own good.”  
  
Megatron could only watch in shock and, if he was honest, a queasy kind of awe as Lugnut unclipped his frontal pelvic plating and extended his jack. As expected, his jack was in proportion to the rest of him – large, thick, inelegant, and, since it was shoved right in front of Megatron’s face, almost amusingly unsubtle. Megatron noted with a curious twist in his fuel lines that the broad, blunt head was already glistening with thick, viscous lubricant.  
  
Lugnut let go of Megatron’s wrists, letting his hands drop to the floor. To prevent Megatron from falling, he held the back of Megatron’s helm instead and insistently nudged the tip of his jack against Megatron’s lips. To Megatron’s own surprise, he found he opened his mouth instantly, allowing Lugnut to push slowly – carefully, Megatron noticed – inside. Curious, Megatron swiped his glossa over the leaking tip as it entered his mouth, tasting Lugnut’s lubricant as it seeped out of him. He felt Lugnut shudder, and heard him give a strange choked, hungry groan. He wondered how long the big mech had fantasised about doing something like this. To his shame, he felt his port begin to grow wet, his jack pressing uncomfortably against the armour that concealed it.  
  
“That’s better,” Strika said. Then she hooked her fingers into one of Megatron’s pelvic seams, nearly breaking the catch, and roughly pushed his armour out of the way, exposing both his jack and port. He made a sound of protest that he had intended as a warning growl, but it came out softened and muffled by Lugnut’s jack, turning into more of a whimper as Strika rubbed the rim of his port in firm circles before dipping one finger inside. At the same time Lugnut pushed more of his jack into Megatron’s mouth, grunting as he rolled his hips forward. Megatron’s jaw ached already, and he almost choked as the head hit the back of his throat. He could only take a small part of Lugnut’s whole length, and Lugnut didn’t force him to take more; in this respect his restraint was admirable.  
  
“Ohh mighty Megatron,” Lugnut began, his voice even deeper and rougher than usual, both his claws holding Megatron’s helm. His frame was shaking ever so slightly as he brought his hips back a short way, then thrust himself back into Megatron’s mouth, adopting a slow rhythm. “Your mouth feels so... ungh. G-glorious Master... your glossa...”  
  
“Wonderful,” Strika sniped. She pushed a second finger inside Megatron’s port, drawing from him an embarrassingly weak moan. “Now I have to listen to you instead.” Strika’s fingers were long and very thick, and Megatron was already feeling stretched and full with just two of them inside him. She took up a slow thrusting motion, matching her rhythm to Lugnut’s, occasionally twisting or curling her fingers inside her leader, brushing and prodding against hypersensitive wire bundles and sensor clusters, making Megatron give a series of increasingly wanton moans – each one a new stab at his dwindling pride. Because, well... as mortifying as this situation was, Primus did it feel _good_.  
  
Lugnut ignored Strika’s complaining. “M-master... Suck me.” Megatron squeezed his optics shut, obeying without thinking. Lugnut gave a long, needy groan and jerked his hips, though he quickly recovered himself. It seemed he didn’t want to hurt his master after all. Megatron sucked as hard as he could, laving his glossa over the slick, hot metal of Lugnut’s shaft on the backstrokes, trying to relax his throat components for the inward thrusts, finding that he actually _wanted_ to take Lugnut deeper...  
  
The effect of the stasis cuffs was wearing off. He found himself pushing his hips back ever so slightly as Strika started to thrust more roughly, and faster. Then she began to squeeze a third finger inside him. Fortunately his port was wet enough at this point for her to slide it in relatively easily, and he heard her give an approving little hum. “My my, leader... Getting eager, are we?” Lugnut was getting more eager too, thrusting faster, moving Megatron’s head and grunting and gasping as he did so. After a short while Strika forced a fourth finger into Megatron’s port; it was painful now, but still oddly pleasurable, enough for him to arch his back slightly and press his hips back as he was stretched. “That’s right,” Strika said. “You will need to be good and ready...”  
  
“Augh... M-Megatron, I... I-I’m going to...” Lugnut’s thrusts were getting desperate, and Megatron’s jaw and throat were sore from their increasingly rough treatment.  
  
“Do it,” Strika purred. “In his mouth, down his throat.”  
  
Lugnut gave a strangled roar and did just as she ordered. Megatron choked on the spray of fluid that was abruptly pumped into his throat, but he was still unable to move back due to Lugnut’s claws holding his head. The larger mech pulled back mid-overload, so a good portion of coolant sprayed over Megatron’s face as well. He squeezed his optics shut, coughing. He heard Strika laughing. He unconsciously swallowed some of the liquid, licking his lips without even thinking. He couldn’t lift his hands to wipe his eyes, so he was blinded for the moment.  
  
“Ah... Ah, Lord Megatron. I apologise-!”  
  
“Don’t apologise to him,” Strika interrupted. She pulled her fingers out of Megatron’s port, leaving Megatron feeling curiously empty, and missing the pleasurable sensation of pressure on his internal sensors. “Help me get him on the berth instead.”  
  
“Yes, of course...”  
  
Megatron was lifted none too gently onto a large berth, manoeuvred so that he was on his back, his arms above his head. He made a soft noise as his thighs were pushed apart, and he instinctively pressed his heels into the berth, angling his hips up. His hands flexed, arms pulling at the cuffs. “Take these off,” he said. He felt Lugnut and Strika pause. “The current’s worn off anyway...”  
  
After a moment more, Lugnut said, “O-of course, Master.” The cuffs were unfastened, and Megatron brought his hands down, massaging his wrists. He stilled, however, when he felt Lugnut’s long glossa swipe over his face. His first instinct was to recoil, but he was grateful when it meant he was able to open his optics.  
  
“Leave some on him,” Strika said. She was kneeling between Megatron’s legs, her hands heavy on his thighs. “He looks good like that.” Megatron looked down, and reached out to hold onto Lugnut’s arm as Strika pushed her hips forward. She had retracted her own frontal pelvic plating, revealing a jack rivalling Lugnut’s in size. She nudged the slick head of it against Megatron’s opening. Megatron tightened his hold on Lugnut’s broad arm and tried to shift further back on the berth, shaking his head. “Strika, don’t. Enough now! I... that’s too big, _stop_!”  
  
Lugnut moved behind him, lifting him so that his back leaned against Lugnut’s wide chest. Megatron reached back, fingers clawing at Lugnut’s upper arms as Strika held his legs apart – despite his attempts to keep them closed – and moved her hips forward. Megatron gasped and grit his dentals as Strika pushed inside, letting his head fall back against Lugnut’s chest. Lugnut licked at the coolant on his face in a strangely comforting gesture. Megatron drew deep, deliberately slow intakes as he was penetrated; he was glad Strika had prepared him so thoroughly before, as this would surely be agonising otherwise. As it was, the sensation was intense and burning and uncomfortable, but, as his internal sensors were once again stimulated, not entirely unpleasant. Strika advanced slowly, gripping his thighs tight and holding them wide apart to make room for her wide, bulky frame in between them. When she was about half way in she pulled back, and began a series of shallow, slow thrusts that made Megatron gasp and moan. With each thrust Strika was a fraction deeper inside him, though he already felt like he couldn’t possibly take any more of her length.  
  
“That’s right, my lord,” Lugnut said, and Megatron could feel his voice rumbling deep through his frame, causing a warm feeling to pool somewhere in his fuel tank. “Open up to us. Let go... Let us take good care of you.”  
  
At that point Strika gave a sharper thrust, driving in all the way, and Megatron gave a humiliating little yelp. He could feel Lugnut’s recovered jack pressing hot and large against his back. “P-please... Lugnut... Strika.” At this point, however, even Megatron himself was no longer sure what he was begging for – he didn’t know if he wanted them to stop or give him more.  
  
Strika adopted a steady rhythm, her thrusts long and even. Megatron could do little more than hold onto Lugnut as tightly as he could, giving progressively weaker mewls and groans as the initial fear and discomfort blended into a pleasure more intense than he had ever experienced before. Strika guided one of Megatron’s legs around her thick waist, and then moved the hand she’d freed up to Megatron’s jack, pumping in time with her own thrusts, swiping her large thumb over the head. Megatron panted and threw his head back, gazing up at Lugnut with lust-brightened optics, his face still spattered with Lugnut’s coolant. He overloaded only moments later, with a couple of harder thrusts from Strika, her hand tight and hot around his jack. His whole body arched, and he clung to Lugnut’s shoulders, crying out some incoherent string of curses and praise. It was the most intense climax he’d ever had, and after it passed – and Strika was still fucking him – he felt weak and hot and pliant.  
  
He heard – and felt – Lugnut growl, and suddenly Strika had pulled out of him and he was being manoeuvred onto all fours astride Lugnut’s chassis. He bit his lower lip as Lugnut’s jack lined up with his port.  
  
“Forgive me, oh, Master,” Lugnut said. Megatron looked at him sleepily and pushed his hips down and back, impaling himself on Lugnut’s impressive jack. “L-lord Megatron!” Lugnut was surprised, but that didn’t stop him from jerking his hips upward in a fevered, reflexive movement. Megatron grunted and let his head fall forward, the front of his helm resting against Lugnut’s chest.  
  
“Lugnut, that’s... mm...” Megatron flexed his internals a little, getting a peculiar pleasure out of the desperate shudder that ran through Lugnut’s body. “W-what?” He looked back over his shoulder as he felt Strika pushing at his entrance with a finger slicked up with something. “Strika, stop, I can’t-”  
  
“Quiet,” the femme said, insistently sliding her finger inside Megatron’s port, stretching it even further than it had been already. Condensation was running down Megatron’s back, beading on his chest and helm as he watched in disbelief. He gave a pained whine as Strika thrust in knuckle-deep and gave her finger a little curl, sliding against Lugnut’s jack. “So, so, so tight,” Strika purred in approval.  
  
To her credit, Strika was slow and considerate in stretching him, and from the feel of it she was using a lot of lubricant in addition to Megatron’s own. Megatron was panting, his glossa out, his fingers curling into a couple of seams on Lugnut’s shoulders. Gradually Strika worked two fingers inside him, then three, then she withdrew them all and repositioned herself on the berth so that she was kneeling between Lugnut’s legs and holding onto Megatron’s hips. Very slowly she pushed her jack back inside him. It was harder going than before, and Megatron whined and twisted, fingers clawing against Lugut’s armour. Lugnut wrapped his arms around his master’s shoulders in an oddly protective gesture, mumbling soothing encouragements into the smaller mech’s audio, though all the while he failed to fully still his hips, so his jack slid tightly against Strika’s as she forced her way inside. In time Strika buried herself to the hilt inside him, and Megatron begged them both to be still for a few kliks. They obliged, one of Strika’s hands rubbing soothing circles on Megatron’s lower back. Megatron was stretched and filled well beyond his limit, and it took many kliks of panting and quietly mewling before he was anything like used to the sensation. Meanwhile, Strika’s other hand slipped between Megatron and Lugnut’s bodies and began to stroke Megatron’s jack back to its full hardness and length, causing Megatron to roll his hips slightly in spite of the pain of his intense double penetration.  
  
“...Master?” Lugnut asked after a while, stroking the back of Megatron’s helm with one massive claw.  
  
Megatron turned his hazy optics on Lugnut’s central optic. The Decepticon leader’s intakes were ragged and deep, and a good deal of Lugnut’s coolant still glistened on his face. Megatron nodded, and whispered, “M-move...”  
  
“Finally...” Strika muttered, and began to thrust, starting out shallow as Megatron was still too tight around them to allow much more movement than that. Gradually, though, both she and Lugnut were able to slide in and out a little faster, make their thrusts a little longer, until they were pounding their leader so hard Megatron thought he was going to slip into stasis just because it was far, far too much. Strika removed her hand from Megatron’s jack, pressing his body down against Lugnut’s so that his shaft was squeezed between his body and his subordinate’s, rubbing as they both moved, and she leaned back a little, adjusting her angle so she could fuck him a little bit deeper. It still hurt, but Megatron found the pain only added to the intensity of sensations he was experiencing; he had never felt weaker or more vulnerable, but at the same time he had never felt _better_. He twisted and writhed between his loyal soldiers, arching his back, gasping and moaning and _screaming_...  
  
Strika overloaded first, shooting her load deep inside Megatron’s tight, sore port. He felt her essence spray up inside him and gave a weak moan, biting at Lugnut’s neck cables as he rolled his hips, grinding hard against both of them. Lugnut followed soon after, and with a great roar he blew his load deep into Megatron as well. He produced more coolant than Strika, and Megatron’s optics rolled back a little as he ground his hips down, feeling that strong, thick spray pump into him. Strika was still thrusting, one of her hands pressing down on the small of Megatron’s back, the other holding his thigh. He realised with a shock that her jack hadn’t even softened at all, and that she was already going for a second overload. He whined and pressed his face against Lugnut’s neck, biting and kissing as Strika’s jack slid hotly against Lugnut’s inside him, continuing to drill deep into his now lavishly wet port, pounding at numerous sweet spots deep within him. He overloaded only moments later, screaming and writhing in between his two loving servants, his port constricting, making Lugnut grunt and Strika have to slow her pace for a short time. His jack, squeezed in between his own chassis and Lugnut’s, sprayed coolant over both their bodies, and his port gushed with fresh lubrication.  
  
He was still panting and trembling from his astonishing overload when Strika abruptly pulled out of him, grabbed his hips, and pulled him roughly off Lugnut’s jack. She turned him so that he was lying on his back on Lugnut’s fluid-spattered chassis, his legs still splayed. She held one of his feet in one hand, holding his leg up and back, holding him wide open. He watched weakly as she pumped herself to a second climax with her hand, until she eventually cried out and came all over his chassis in a long, powerful arc, her coolant mixing with his own on his chest and abdomen, Lugnut’s on his face. He opened his mouth, pushing out his glossa to catch any drops he could, taste them, and swallow them.  
  
Strika, panting from the exertion, sank back on her heels as her overload passed. She looked sated and smug. Lugnut cradled Megatron against him with his strong arms, licking affectionately at the side of Megatron’s helm.  
  
“You like the taste of us?” Strika eventually said, having noted how eager Megatron had been to swallow her essence. She smiled a predatory smile, and Megatron weakly realised that this little ordeal was far from over. Curiously, he didn’t seem to mind.


End file.
